Where We Are Would Be Paradise To

There Are Accents In The Eye Which Are Not On The Tongue, And More Tales Come From Pale Lips Than Can Enter An Ear. It Is Both The Grandeur And The Pain Of The Remoter Moods That They Avoid The Pathway Of Sound.

Did You Say The Stars Were Worlds, Tess?" "yes." "all Like Ours?" "i Don't Know, But I Think So. They Sometimes Seem To Be Like The Apples On Our Stubbard-tree. Most Of Them Splendid And Sound - A Few Blighted." "which Do We Live On - A Splendid One Or A Blighted One?" "a Blighted One.

So Each Had A Private Little Sun For Her Soul To Bask In; Some Dream, Some Affection, Some Hobby, Or At Least Some Remote And Distant Hope.

I Have Felt Lately, More And More, That My Present Way Of Living Is Bad In Every Respect.

Dialect Words Are Those Terrible Marks Of The Beast To The Truly Genteel.